Orcs Don’t Have Tails
by xyliastories
Summary: This is an ever-growing collection of a female Orc’s adventures. Her name is Olanir gra-Nolob, and with every chapter is a new tale to be told! Rated M for gruesome violence and some romance.
1. Killing the Fire

_A/N: Orcs don't have tails, they have tales! _

_**1: Killing the Fire**_

We entered Windhelm, on the sixteenth of Heartfire, 4E 201, just shortly after General Tullius had given us our orders. It was quite some speech — despite the fact that he hated giving them. Anyway, the moment I pushed open the large gate with Legate Rikke, I knew things would change, for better or worse, when I walked out those same stone, umber doors.

I took a breath and things began to blur as Tullius and his men rushed only a few steps in to find the first group of Stormcloaks. By Malacath, was it cold! Beats the Winterhold chill, but still frosty as ever. At that moment I had forgotten who I was — a female Orc, daughter of the famous Gourmet, of legate ranking in the Imperial army of the Mede Dynasty. All I knew was that Tullius and Rikke told me what I should be doing and I was a dog following those orders. We fought, and after taking out about ten of Ulfric's men, we, whose numbers grew as we progressed on, took a hard left for the marketplace. Next, the Hall of the Dead, where my Skyforge-steel war axe was breaking through some barricades to let my fellow troops through. A chill ran up and down my spine. Not out of the cold, no. It was because of the recent unsolved murders, some of which happening right there. Those poor men, women, and children. I felt sorry for them.

I felt swords slicing against my own weapon and axes slashing at my side, and all that could be heard were shouts from both sides. We rushed toward, through the Valunstrad quarter of the city. I glanced down to see my armor decorated with blood all over. It didn't bother me much, though — all the killing I'd done. Only a true beast kills without feeling, I thought. That I was, too. A werewolf. With every slash and bash I could feel the rage of my ancestors and the pounding of my heart, beating in sync with the beast inside of me. The sensation grew stronger with every step nearing the legendary Palace of the Kings. With about twenty or thirty more Stormcloaks dead, we marched up to the steps of the palace. With Ulfric Stormcloak inside, Rikke and General Tullius stopped on the middle step. The general gave a shorter announcement than the last, and once more we entered through incredibly large doors, this time leaving the lower-ranked soldiers outside in the streets of the city.

"Rikke, seal the door," Tullius ordered as we stepped inside the Palace of the Kings. It truly is a majestic sight to see, if you ever get a chance.

"Already done, sir," the legate responded, quickly.

We all walked together, slowly, up to Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak's throne, where Galmar Stone-Fist, his right-hand man in war strategy, was standing in front. General Tullius began to mention all the things Ulfric would be charged for. High treason against the Empire, murder of countless Imperials, including former High King Torygg, and so on. Almost instantly, we broke into battle. Galmar ran toward me, and I swung with my axe in a quick and defensive fashion. Then, I went for Ulfric, and Galmar soon got distracted with Legate Rikke and the general. I wanted to make sure that I got the chance to get some blows in on the leader of the Stormcloak rebellion before he was dead — after a few hits, he fell to the cold floor of his palace, where General Tullius insisted on a surrender. Galmar was dead beside them. But, despite the Legion's efforts, Ulfric was determined not to let the fates of elves and men intertwine. He was not ready to let the Thalmor take Skyrim from him. Though, that's just the problem — Skyrim doesn't belong to him. It belongs to everyone who calls it their home, regardless of race.

Then Ulfric asked for me to kill him. "Let the Dragonborn do it," he said, sternly.

"Here, use this blade to do it," requested Tullius, "I sharpened it specially for the occasion." He handed me a Dwarven sword, enchanted with the power to steal health from its foes. Normally, I wouldn't have given Ulfric the satisfaction, but this, this was much different. I thought for a moment.

"I'd be happy to kill him," I said, grinning. Except I didn't use General Tullius' blade. My mind buzzed, thinking. Isn't this palace built by Ysgramor? I reached behind me to pull Wuuthrad off my back. Pulling back a few loose strands of hair, I lifted the glorious battleaxe up from a low position, raising it with increasing speed, until finally, I hit Ulfric right down his right shoulder, and with one final cry, he lay without movement. I killed Ulfric Stormcloak. I had mixed emotions. I knew he had some good reasoning behind that little 'rebellion,' though I hadn't agreed with everything that he'd fight for. Skyrim is for the Nords? Please. Here again? Well, I won't go into detail, but I think you're seeing my point. It's just a shame that his lust for power conquered him, and that that was the only fuel for the Rebellion. Not the Stormcloaks, definitely not Ulfric, and not the Empire, for certain. What a bogus war. At least it's over. Though, while I know the peace won't be permanent, it's nice to have that peace of mind that Ulfric won't be crawling his way across Skyrim anymore. Instead, General Tullius tells me his head will immediately be sent to the Imperial City over in Cyrodiil, where a spike will be put through it for all to see. That oughta be something, alright.


	2. Which Beast Beats?

_2. **Which** **Beast** **Beats?**_

They're both such a wonder to me. The two twins, members of the Circle, seem very mysterious, both with stories to share. I'm talking about Farkas and Vilkas, of course. Their deep eyes are cryptic, and their voices are even more mystifying. At first I fell for Farkas, who has soft spots no one can ignore. But Vilkas's intelligence and defensive nature won me over. I know my family wouldn't have supported the marriage of an Orsimer and a Nord, but love is love, isn't it? Vilkas looked so brooding in that wolf armor, too. I still haven't seen him transform, though I did see Farkas, and he was so heroic when taking out, what, eight members of the Silver Hand at once? My point is, the brothers, though they don't always try to show it, are very caring, especially for Nords, which seem to be very.. frosty people.

So, when it came to be my wedding day, I was glad I could find a strong, brute man like Vilkas since there aren't many Orcs in Skyrim that share that same, honorable notion. And I don't want to be the wife of a dishonorable chief from a failing Orcish stronghold.

I walked down the aisle, and, as I did, I saw Farkas glaring right at me, half-smiling. I felt so sorry for him, as my mind recalled all the times he'd said "but you, I like" with a wide grin. I proceeded quickly to the altar dedicated to Mara. Typically Orcs would marry under the blessings of honor from the Daedric lord Malacath, but I don't mind the marriage ritual that Skyrim natives use. So, as Vilkas and I exchange looks, the priest Maramal begins the ceremony.

He then asks Vilkas, "Do you agree to be bound together in love, now and forever?" to which Vilkas replies, "I do. Now and forever." It's clear he wants to be with me, but as Maramal asks me the same question, I pause, glaring back at Farkas. He knows my pain in this decision, because of the love I have for them both. He gives an encouraging smile. I grin because of it, and turn my head back towards the gaze of both Vilkas and Maramal. I vow, just like my fiancé did. Maramal is happy to see such love blossom before him. Especially in such desperate times, where northern Tamriel is troubled. But we're all united, one couple at a time, aren't we?

Maramal then gave us the rings, blessed by Mara herself, and everyone is joyful. Vilkas has a dreamy gaze towards me, and asks where we should live. We move into my home in Riften, which I also love dearly. I knew this would be the start of a deep, everlasting and loving relationship. Farkas and I will always still have a loving friendship, but Vilkas will always, _always_ be my beast.


	3. Braith the

_3: **Braith the _**_

Whiterun. Sun's Dusk, 4E 201. I wander the streets of Skyrim's trade capitol, chatting with townsfolk in the market. It's either late afternoon or early evening, though I'm not sure which. The clouds have given way to a light downpour, and the merchants at the stalls are preparing to head inside soon. It's been awhile since I've stopped to stay in Whiterun for long, and so I take in the details of the lovely city. The mountain flowers and tundra cotton mix well with the scarlet ferns of Whiterun's plains. I breathe deeply and think about what the city experienced during the civil war. I remember how I took one of the Companions with me and together we fought Ulfric's boys off our turf. I remember how Balgruuf was grateful I stood beside him when we were victorious, as we had known comrades that could not say the same.

After enough pondering, I decide to check out my home. I forgot about Breezehome, and thus visit it. Braith the brat is outside, and rushes past me, almost grazing my armor.

I've never really liked her. Then again, I'm not too sure that anyone does. She's so disrespectful to everyone, and treats the children that she "plays" with terribly. I head inside, pushing back the big, wooden door, about 150 paces from the Whiterun gate.

Little do I realize, she follows me inside, but I'm not startled, surprisingly. I wouldn't doubt the fact that she came in my house just to taunt me. She says, "I'm not afraid of you, ya know, even if you _are_ my elder!"

I smirk and look into the emptiness of my home, as I hadn't decorated it yet. It reminds me of what Braith's soul must be like.


End file.
